


The Great Halls of Mandos Escape

by certain_as_the_sun



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crack, Gen, Implied/Referenced Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-06 09:18:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11033238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certain_as_the_sun/pseuds/certain_as_the_sun
Summary: Námo said Fëanor would never leave the Halls until the end of the world. Fëanor disagrees.





	The Great Halls of Mandos Escape

**Author's Note:**

> The whole "Fëanor will never be Reembodied" thing has always struck me as Pengolodh being an unreliable narrator. If _Morgoth_ was released, why not Fëanor? And besides, if Fëanor wasn't allowed to leave, what are the chances he'd accept that and not escape, drive Námo mad, turn the Halls into a giant workshop, or all three? So, for those reasons and more, I firmly believe Fëanor was/will be Reembodied at some point. This story is that belief given a cracky twist.

" _Fëanor will never be Reembodied_ ," he'd said. " _Fëanor will remain in my Halls until Dagor Dagorath_ ," he'd said. It had seemed a good idea at the time. Now, after three Ages of Fëanor in the Halls, the Doomsman of the Valar had only one thing to say: " _What was I thinking?_ "

"...And when you've finished that, Celegorm, help me attach this mirror to that wall. Amras! I told you to move those tapestries! And _where_ is Caranthir?"

The Halls of Mandos had once been a place of rest for dead Elves. Now it was Fëanor's workroom, when he wasn't trying to escape, and Námo's attempts to stop him had failed miserably. The Vala of Death watched in long-suffering despair as Fëanor and his sons prepared to use _his_ throne room for some experiment involving mirrors. Preoccupied as he was in longing for the days when Melkor was all he had to worry about, it took him several minutes to realise what those damned Elves were doing now. They had placed mirrors in various strategic parts of the throne room, and were now attempting to use the reflected light of Fëanorian lamps to burn through the wall.

"Stop that at once!" Námo shouted, at the end of his tether. "Get out of my throne room!"

Amrod made a rude gesture at him. No one else paid him any attention.

Fëanor and sons may have taken over the Halls in all but name, but Námo was still a Vala. More importantly, he was still technically ruler of the Halls. He waved his hand and the mirrors vanished, sent off to some distant part of the Halls. There was an outburst of language that would make a Dwarf blush.

"Silence!" Námo roared. "Go back to your quarters right now!"

The Fëanorians left with many angry curses. He knew better than to hope they were going back to their quarters, but they were no longer in his throne room. Finally, some peace and quiet and —

"Námo." Vairë's voice was calm, gentle, and the tone she used only when he was in trouble.

"Yes, dear?" the Vala of Death asked nervously, trying to remember if he had done something to provoke her wrath.

His wife folded her arms and gave him a look that would scare a Balrog. "I trust there is a good reason my weaving room is full of mirrors."

 

* * *

 

One explanation and several mirrors removed from the weaving room later, Námo returned to his throne and begged Eru for a few days of peace. Either Eru wasn't listening or he had a truly terrible sense of humour. A frantic Maia rushed into the throne room, pointing at the doorway leading out of the Halls and speaking so quickly its words were incomprehensible.

Námo groaned. "Her again?"

The Maia nodded.

It was impossible for living Elves to enter the Halls. Unfortunately, Nerdanel cared very little for what was possible or impossible. At least once a week she stormed into the Halls and demanded the return of her husband and sons.

Fëanor on his own, or Nerdanel on her own, Námo could have coped with. Both of them, one a resident and one an unwelcome visitor, was too much for even a Vala. As he waited for Nerdanel to arrive, he reflected that they should have sent her after Morgoth. She'd have terrified the fallen Vala and all his armies into submission the moment she set foot on Middle-earth.

"Mandos!" Nerdanel shouted. "Give me back my family  _right now_!"

Námo wondered what Eru would say if he released the Fëanorians. Surely, under the circumstances, he would understand.

 

* * *

 

"I say he'll release us in a week," Curufin said confidently.

Caranthir looked up immediately. "Will you—"

" _No_ , Moryo. I am not going to bet on it."

"I say he won't last another day," Celegorm said. "No, Moryo, I won't bet on it either. I'm not that stupid."

Caranthir pouted.

"Aw, don't be upset!" Amrod and Amras abandoned their chess game to curl up against Caranthir. "We still love you!"

"I think," Curufin said loudly, ignoring the three of them. Celebrimbor, asleep with his head resting on his father's shoulder, stirred and muttered something. Curufin absently patted his head as he continued, "that it will take longer than a day for him to relent. If we carry out our plan for tomorrow, and if Mother annoys him enough, we should be Reembodied in a week. What do you say, Nelyo?"

Maedhros continued to stare morosely at the wall, oblivious to his brothers' and nephew's presence.

Celegorm snorted. "He won't hear. He's too busy moping over Maglor."

"Ah, there you all are!" Fëanor looked almost frighteningly cheerful. "I have an idea, and if it's to work there are some jobs I want you to do."

 

* * *

 

"No. I am sorry, but Ilúvatar has not given me permission to release them," Námo said, inwardly begging Ilúvatar to give him that permission. "Now please leave. These Halls are forbidden to the living."

Nerdanel folded her arms and tapped her foot against the stone floor. In that moment she looked terrifyingly like Vairë in a rage. "Even if I leave now, I will return until you Reembody my husband and sons. _All_ of them. And Celebrimbor too, poor boy."

If it wasn't beneath his dignity as a Vala, Námo would have snorted. That "poor boy" had just last week carved some highly creative insults onto Námo's throne, and the week before one of the Maiar had caught him trying to build a door out of the Halls in his room. At least Maeglin had been Reembodied years ago. The things that had happened when they were together didn't bear remembering.

 

* * *

 

After Nerdanel's departure, the Halls were silent. They were silent for the rest of the day, and all of the next day. Námo was at first relieved, then puzzled, then suspicious. By the time a Maia arrived with news, he had guessed what had happened. He prayed he was wrong. Since Eru lately paid no attention to his prayers, he was right.

"What do you mean, they've _gone_? How can they be gone?"

"Well, my Lord," the Maia said nervously, "we've searched everywhere and can find no sign of them. But there's a great big hole where one of Míriel's tapestries used to hang. Some of the Doriathrim reported hearing an explosion yesterday, and there is a smell of smoke lingering around the hole. We think they waited until Nerdanel arrived to distract us, then placed explosives."

Námo, being a Vala, could not get headaches. Fëanor, being Fëanor, did the impossible and gave him one.

"Keep looking for them. Search outside the Halls if you're sure they're gone. I will send a message to Manwë." Someone else could deal with the House of Fëanor for once.

 

* * *

 

"I don't remember any ruined castles in Valinor," said Amras, looking around curiously. "And I don't remember the forests being this gloomy."

The Fëanorians surveyed their surroundings — their extremely gloomy, reeking-of-evil surroundings.

"This isn't Valinor," Curufin said at last.

Fëanor looked almost embarrassed. "I was sure Valinor was beyond that wall... Is that Artanis?"

 

* * *

 

On Taniquetil, Manwë read and reread Námo's message. "Escaped? What— But— _How_?"

"I told you," said Varda, in the tone she used every time events proved her right. "I told you the Halls would never hold them. Frankly I'm surprised it took them so long."

Manwë spluttered. "But... what do we _do_?"

"If I were you, I'd start by asking Nerdanel."

The words were scarcely out of her mouth when an Eagle swooped in and dropped a letter in Manwë's lap. He opened it warily. "It's from... Olórin?"

Varda's eyebrows shot up. "Has he finally realised Curumo's a traitor?"

"No," said Manwë slowly, as if he couldn't believe what he was reading. "He wants to know why Fëanor is in Dol Guldur, and if he should stop Artanis murdering him."

Silence fell on Taniquetil. A more horrified silence had not been heard since the Trees were destroyed.

"Perhaps we should do something," Manwë suggested.

"Of course we should do something! If Fëanor's killed, whether by Artanis or Sauron, he'll go right back to the Halls, and do you think they — or Námo — will survive his presence a second time?" Varda left the room and returned scribbling on a piece of paper. She turned to the Eagle, which was perched atop a statue Aulë had given them. "Give this to Olórin." To Manwë, she said, "I told him to prevent a Fourth Kinslaying if at all possible, and to find somewhere the House of Fëanor will be out of the way until we decide what to do with them."

 

* * *

 

You could have heard a pin drop in Dol Guldur. Sauron and his Nazgûl were gone, and in their place were eight people who Gandalf knew for a fact were dead. A temporary truce had been called, yet everyone had, almost unconsciously, fallen into battle lines. On one side there was the House of Fëanor. On the other there were three Istari and two Elves. Radagast and Elrond held back Galadriel from attacking her uncle with her bare hands. Saruman gaped at the Fëanorians. Gandalf waited impatiently for some reply from Manwë. He prayed Radagast's thrush friend had taken his letter to the Eagles as Radagast said it would. If it hadn't he'd be waiting a long time.

Celebrimbor broke the silence. "Hello, cousin! How nice to... see you... after... all these years." His attempt at a cheerful demeanour wilted under the force of Galadriel's glare.

"Tyelperinquar." Galadriel's voice shook with barely contained rage. "Did I tell you to distrust Annatar?"

"You did."

"Did you listen to me?"

Celebrimbor winced.

"If you had listened, would there have been a One Ring, a Last Alliance, or a Necromancer in Dol Guldur?"

"No," Celebrimbor said sadly.

Galadriel turned her attention to her uncle and cousins. "What are _they_ doing here?"

There was a muffled shout as Fëanor and Caranthir tried to say something, only for Maedhros to place a hand over their mouths. Gandalf noted belatedly that Maedhros had both hands again.

An even more uncomfortable silence fell.

"Hello, Elrond," Maedhros said at last.

"Hello, Ada," Elrond said, with remarkable composure given the circumstances and the fact that Galadriel was probably plotting a Kinslaying, or at the very least a Kinfighting.

"Have you seen Maglor lately?" From Maedhros's tone, one would have thought he was meeting a friend he had last seen a week ago, not reuniting with his foster son after being dead for two Ages.

"Yes, he's in Rivendell. If I'd known you were coming I would have brought him with me."

Galadriel looked like she was about to take on her Dark Queen persona again. Perhaps realising the danger they were in, Elrond and Maedhros fell silent. Fëanor, that incident with Maedhros notwithstanding, had yet to speak at all, thank Eru. Gandalf didn't dare hope his silence would last long, or that Maedhros would be able to stop his father again.

Finally, an Eagle appeared with a letter in its beak. It dropped the letter in front of Gandalf and flew off.

The wizard squinted to read the writing. It had apparently been penned in a great hurry. "Prevent Kinslaying if possible. Find... peace? No, _place_. Find place for Fëanor and kin. We will make decision later."

"None of you will ever set foot in Lothlórien," Galadriel said in a tone that allowed no argument.

Fëanor looked at her as if she was incredibly stupid. "Of course we won't. What do you think your little kingdom has that could interest us?"

"It. Is. Not. A. Kingdom."

" _Not_ a kingdom? You mean that after all your plans to make yourself a queen, you're happy without a kingdom?"

Gandalf wondered if Fëanor was trying to commit suicide.

"You can come to Rivendell," Elrond said hurriedly before Galadriel could speak. "Maglor will be happy to see you."

Celegorm muttered something about "happiest to see Nelyo" and "hope his room's soundproofed". Gandalf refused to think too deeply about that.

 

* * *

 

"So," said Manwë.

"Hmm," said Námo.

The two Valar fell silent.

Manwë tried again. "What should we do? Bring them back to Valinor? Return them to the Halls?"

Námo trembled as if the thought terrified him. "If I don't see them again until Dagor Dagorath, it will be too soon."

"Perhaps we shouldn't return them to the Halls, then." Manwë thought for a moment. "You know, we really should do something about that Ring—"

"Stop right there," Námo interrupted. "I know what you're suggesting, and I would sooner give Tulkas charge of my Halls than let Fëanor anywhere near that Ring. Imagine Fëanor with even a lesser Ring of Power!"

Manwë imagined it. He promptly wished he hadn't. "I see what you mean."

There was another lapse in the conversation.

"How about bringing them back to Valinor, and leaving them in Nerdanel's care?"

Námo grasped at that idea with the eagerness of a drowning man presented with a rope. "Yes! Bring them here or send her to them, just keep her from coming into my Halls and demanding to know what's happened to them!"

 

* * *

 

And so it was that Eönwë was sent to Middle-earth to retrieve all nine members of the House of Fëanor. Upon arriving in Valinor the Maia left them with Nerdanel and fled before he could be caught up in whatever happened next.

Nerdanel glared at Fëanor.

"Hello," he said, sounding as uncertain as he could sound.

She continued to glare. Their sons and grandson inched away.

"Won't you say you're happy to see me?"

Her glare became more deadly.

"We'll be in our room if you need us," said Amrod, dragging Amras and Caranthir into the house before the inevitable explosion.

Maglor and Maedhros followed them with murmured excuses. Curufin vanished in the direction of the forge. Celegorm fled toward the stables. Celebrimbor disappeared, saying something about looking for Maeglin. And Fëanor was left to face Nerdanel alone.

"Three Ages," Nerdanel said quietly. "You took my sons off to Middle-earth. The next I heard, all of you but Maglor were dead, and I was left alone for _three Ages_."

"You can't have been alone," Fëanor objected. "You still have your parents—" He saw the look Nerdanel gave him and stopped there. "I tried to return before now, but Námo prevented it."

"Yes, and I have had words with Námo about that. Now I am going to have words with you. Tell me, when did you decide three jewels were more important than our sons' lives?"

"I didn't—"

" _Yes, you did_. How else do you explain forcing them to swear that Oath of yours?"

"They swore willingly!" Fëanor protested.

Nerdanel continued as if he hadn't spoken. "And then there was your ridiculous belief everyone was plotting against you, and how _dare_ you draw your sword on your brother, and as for everything that happened at Alqualondë, I have never been so ashamed of you! You will go to Olwë, apologise and beg his forgiveness, and then you will go to Ñolofinwë and apologise for— Fëanáro Curufinwë! Come back here!"

Fëanor had never thought he would miss being in the Halls of Mandos. He missed it now.


End file.
